


Exactly Four and A Half Knives, and A Hello Kitty Backpack Filled With Pulparindo

by witchlips



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, General Wade Warning, Let Peter Say Fuck, Lost Item Soul Mates, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Soulmates, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21748327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchlips/pseuds/witchlips
Summary: When you turn twenty, you begin finding items your soulmate has lost. Peter has happily listened to his Aunt May wax poetic about how she found his Uncle Ben through these items most of his life. He never really put much thought into finding his own soulmate up until now, however.With his birthday now upon him, Peter Parker is feeling incredibly nervous about the whole mess. It only gets worse as he slowly finds all of the absolute nonsense his soulmate manages to lose.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 289
Collections: Marvel





	Exactly Four and A Half Knives, and A Hello Kitty Backpack Filled With Pulparindo

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, ya'll. This is based off of fujoshi-no-hime on Tumblr's soulmate AU, except that I've added rules so it makes some more sense for myself. You can read the rules up here, or just scroll down and start if you'd like.
> 
> When people in this AU turn twenty, they begin Finding things their soulmate has Lost (assuming that their soulmate is also twenty or older). All the things that can be Lost must have some significant value to the person who Lost it. In order to Lose an object, one must truly have no idea where the thing is for at least 24 hours and it must be Lost in one's own living space. After that amount of time lapses, the Lost object will appear at the other soulmate's living space in an area the same or similar to the place it was Lost in.
> 
> Needless to say, Wade is about to Lose some absolute nonsense. Poor Petey.

Peter wouldn’t say that he was nervous about his twentieth birthday, but he was certainly wary of the event. Every time he saw her the month previous, his Aunt May insisted on bringing up the story of how she and Uncle Ben discovered that they were soulmates after almost three years of Finding each other’s Lost objects. Peter actually really liked the story itself, but the slowly more hopeful looks of excitement that May graced him with as she told it each time made his stomach squirm uncomfortably.

Peter knew that she was just excited for him, but it was really beginning to wear at him. Not that he was averse to having a soulmate entirely. No, Peter was just concerned about how the ordeal of discovering them might affect the Spidery part of his life.

What if he found them only for a villain to snuff them out? What if he never found a good time to divulge his secret to them, and they ended up leaving him because he couldn’t share enough with them? What if he lost track of parts of his costume, or, god forbid, the whole thing? Not that Peter had ever misplaced such an important item before, but there was a first time for everything, right?

God, what a mess it would be.

Those exact thoughts were what drove Peter into writing out a comprehensive Excel sheet detailing every object he owned, few as they might be, and where they were at any given moment. Every time he moved something, Peter recorded where it went immediately. Even if they weren’t things that would be recognized under the parameters of the phenomenon Peter scribbled them down in what even he might call an excessive attention to detail and documentation. Luckily he owned very little and his living space was what he generously described as “cramped but usable”.

He had been so worried about it all that his birthday had somehow managed to sneak up on him despite being the entire reason for his sharpening anxiety. Peter hadn’t even been suspicious when Tony had texted asking him to come up to the tower that evening after his classes. He passed through his classes and a light patrol in a bit of a haze, then before he really knew what was happening, Peter was in uniform and surrounded by Avengers in nothing less than casual-formal wear. Well, everyone but Thor, who had shown up in what looked to be some kind of ceremonial armor, and still somehow looked more comfortable than Peter felt.

“Mr. Stark, what… What _is_ this?” Pete hissed tensely through the mask as Tony pulled him into his side for a picture Ms. Potts snapped with just a little too much glee for Peter’s taste. She smiled at him in commiseration and patted his shoulder before gliding off to speak with Dr. Banner and give them a moment of privacy.

“Twenty is an important birthday, kid. You didn’t think we just _weren’t_ going to acknowledge it, did you?” Tony’s grin turned into that infuriatingly cocky smirk he tended to get when he thought he had done something clever. The man was lucky Peter liked him.

“I was kind of hoping,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he was steered further into the room by the older man.

“You’re gonna have fun tonight, kid, loosen up a little. You deserve a nice night with people that care about you,” Tony cajoled, pushing him down onto one of the sleek black couches in the center of the room. Peter sighed and attempted to get comfortable next to Hawkeye, who was engrossed with stacking crackers into a tower on the coffee table.

“Damn likable bastard,” he huffed as he watched Tony disappear into the crowd after Pepper and Dr. Banner.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too much noise,” Hawkeye said loudly over the din of everyone else talking. The man handed Peter another plate without looking away, still entirely focused on his cracker tower, “Here, eat the rest of this. I only need the crackers, but Natasha made me get more.”

Not one to pass on free food, Peter took the almost overflowing plate. He sighed as he sank back into the couch, and rolled up his mask over his nose. Sometime after his fifty-second chocolate covered strawberry, Peter decided he could probably just roll with the punches on this one.

Despite his protestations, he ended up truly enjoying himself. After he ate something like triple his weight in party finger foods, Peter helped Hawkeye with his cracker tower (which fell all over the floor and was subsequently stepped all over by a very apologetic Thor around level one hundred and thirty-two), played a very heated game of Canasta with Cap and Bucky (which he only knew how to play because Aunt May taught him ages ago), and got in a truly interesting conversation with Dr. Banner that he had to be dragged away from by an exhausted Ms. Potts so they could all get some sleep.

Peter swung back home to his dorm tired, full of good food, and distracted from all of his previous soulmate related anxieties. He pulled casual clothes over the suit and shoved the mask into his hoodie pocket on a high dark roof near the dorm, before sliding quietly down the fire escape and across the street. A warm weightlessness followed Peter through the lobby and up the stairs, and he just knew he was going to sleep well that night, no matter how loudly the guy beneath his room blasted noise-metal.

He flipped on the light switch as he walked in and kicked behind him to shut the door. Peter only just barely managed to remember to toe off his shoes before he stumbled tiredly into his lumpy, unmade bed. The mattress creaked loudly as he crawled onto it, and fell face first into what he had thought was his pillow, but _had_ to be a sack of rocks. Sharp pain exploded across his nose.

 _“OW!”_ Peter sat up instantly, hands over his nose, “What the hell?!”

He looked down only to see his regular under stuffed pillow and scowled at it grumpily. Peter knew his pillow wasn’t the best, but it had certainly never hurt him like that before. His hands left his nose to press against his eyes. He had never left anything under his pillow before, and if he had it would’ve been documented, so… Peter sighed heavily.

This had to be a Lost Object, then. Some important thing that the other half of his soul owned. There was no way it could be anything else.

He shut his eyes a little harder, until he started to see flashing stars, and reached out for his pillow, grasping the worn fabric probably a bit too strongly.

 _Why did it have to be twenty?_ Why didn’t this nonsense start at like fifty? You know, well beyond when he thought he’d still be Spider-man at least?

Peter huffed and shook his head, eyes still shut tightly, “Just rip the band-aid off. Come on.”

He threw the pillow off and opened his eyes.

For a long moment Peter stared at the object uncomprehendingly. The sight of such a thing where he slept, where he lived, so incongruous with its setting that he couldn’t quite understand.

“What… the fuck…” He whispered to himself softly, “What the fuck?!”

Peter scrambled back from it, his breath starting to come quicker and tighten his chest.

A heavy, metal shining, well-taken care of gun sat where his pillow had been. _An actual fucking gun!_ Peter would know. He’d seen more of them as Spidey than he had ever wanted to in his life.

“What the _fuck_!?” he whispered hoarsely again. He thought for a fraction of a second about calling Tony or Aunt May, but dismissed both ideas as quickly as they came. Aunt May would be just as confused, and Peter really didn’t want to upset her. As for Tony… Peter could only imagine his inevitable mother-henning.

No, much better to just deal with this like he did everything else. Entirely on his own.

Peter slid off the bed and made his way over to his laundry hamper, walking backward in order to keep his eye on the gun as if it were a live snake. He grabbed a shirt off the top of the hamper and quickly ran back to his bed, scooping up the firearm carefully and wrapping it in the threadbare fabric.

“This is exactly my luck,” He grumbled to himself. Peter pinched the handle through the shirt, holding it at arms length as he shuffled over to his closet, “My first Found Object and it’s a gun. Un-fucking-believable.”

Huffing in aggravation, Peter shoved open his closet. Very gingerly, he sat the gun on the wire shelf at the upper portion of his closet and then piled several other folded pieces of clothing on top of it. With a little more force than strictly necessary, Peter shoved the closet door shut, switched off the light and stumbled back to his bed.

He moved his pillow back to where it belonged and climbed in, this time pulling the blankets over his head.

“If there are any surprises tomorrow,” Peter whispered as he opened up the Excel sheet on his phone and punched in the new addition to his closet, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”


End file.
